


take me home tonight

by chocobos



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobos/pseuds/chocobos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fenris,” Hawke murmurs. “I didn’t know you were so ticklish.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me home tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedgewilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgewilde/gifts).



> this is a gift for becka, who prompted me on my tumblr for fenhawke snuggles, and fenris finding hawke's beard ticklish. 
> 
> this was supposed to be 500 words of fluff, but morphed into a 2.4k monster. oops.
> 
> also, this is written in a (slightly) divergent universe, where instead of hawke's companions splitting up, they are all magically able to exist in kirkwall. shh. pretend that's a thing. okay. cool.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!! i still don't have a beta so any mistakes are my own, etc.

The first time it happens Hawke is almost sure he’s hallucinating.

He’s sleep-happy and warm, and this is the reason he nuzzles right under Fenris’s chin, accidentally tracing the lines of lyrium that decorate his throat with his beard. Fenris squirms back into the sheets, his tattoos glowing in the low light of the morning.

Fenris doesn’t open his eyes, but there’s a twitch of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Hawke blinks at it for a few seconds, and then does it all over again, this time being sure to drag the coarsest part of his beard right along his adam’s apple. The response is immediate this time, Fenris’s eyes snap open, and he simultaneously tries to burrow closer to Hawke and wriggle away.

Hawke smirks, and noses up the lines of his neck until he reaches the the fork of tattoos on his chin. When he finally meets Fenris’s eyes, they’re dancing with laughter that the elf is trying and failing to cover up with annoyance.

“Fenris,” Hawke murmurs. “I didn’t know you were so ticklish.”

Fenris hasn’t stopped glaring at him. Hawke finds this amusing instead of worrying, because Fenris glares at everything and anything, especially when he’s flustered. “Hawke.” Fenris grunts.

“Nope,” Hawke couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off his face if he _wanted_ to -- and admittedly, he really doesn't want to. “You’re not fooling me.”

“This is childish,” Fenris mutters, but lets Hawke lean up for a kiss, anyway.

Hawke presses closer, trailing his fingers along the tattoos that wind up Fenris’s biceps and curl onto the tops of his shoulders, and he tries, he tries so hard not to revel in it, but by the huff of fond exasperation Fenris lets out against his lips, he’s really not all that successful.

 

 

\---

 

 

The second time it happens, Fenris is just returning from the Wounded Coast after a particularly gruesome battle with Tevinter slavers in an abandoned cave.

Fenris does that sometimes, when he can’t escape the demons that chase him in his dreams. He’ll leave in the middle of the night, with a scribbled note that Hawke’s too delirious and sleep deprived to make out most of the time, but Fenris always comes back. That’s really all that matters to Hawke.

Fenris needs it, as much as Hawke needs the walks through Lowtown whenever the town’s bandits and mercenaries are in check. They don’t question each other about it.

Hawke wakes up, this time, to Fenris putting his gauntlets on the top of the dresser, a clank of metal that has him rousing in their sheets. He lifts his head, hair no doubt sticking out in random tufts on the top of his head.

“Fenris,” Hawke says. “Come to bed.”

Fenris hesitates in the doorway. “Bodahn’s running a bath.”

Hawke shrugs, and pushes up onto his elbows. The sun still hasn’t broken through the clouds, so the only light in their bedroom is from the glare of moonlight shining in through the window, but even that’s enough for Hawke to see the splattering of blood that shines on Fenris’s armor. His eyes rove over his slender form, searching for injuries that aren’t just skin deep. Fenris doesn’t seem too badly injured this time, and when Hawke meets his eyes again, the elf’s gaze is pools of dry amusement.

“The basin’s big enough for two,” Hawke points out.

Fenris looks like he’s about to object, but after he stares at the sleep lines from the pillows on Hawke’s cheek for a few seconds, he relents. “Alright.”

Hawke grins. They rarely ever bathe together, mainly because Hawke is big enough for two separate men, and despite Fenris’s small stature, squeezing into a bath together isn’t always the most comfortable experience. He’s grateful Fenris is letting him, this time. He would never outright object to Fenris going on these lone quests, fighting through groups of slavers and Tevinter mages, but the thought of Fenris returning in pieces, or worse, not returning at all, is not a happy one. Bathing together helps ground him.

“Bathing requires you to get out of bed, Hawke,” Fenris points out, wry.

Hawke rolls his eyes. “Pushy, pushy.” He gets out of bed, though, and can’t help but smile at how Fenris’s lines of lyirum on his palms light up when Hawke reaches over to grab his hand. He leads him into the bathroom, where a steaming basin is already prepared for them.

He strips down to his underclothes, watching as Fenris does the same. Every time Hawke is permitted this, he can’t help but stare. The first time he saw Fenris just like this, he was overwhelmed with thoughts of tracing every single line with his tongue, of following the map of his body that had already been laid out for him by someone else. Hawke’s never been the possessive sort of man, has always been too laid back to have thoughts like that, but the tattoos always light something inside of his chest. Something heavy and fiery that burns bright enough to make him want to take a man already six-feet buried by storm.

They are, as Hawke has come to realize, thoughts he doesn’t appreciate.

“Incredible,” Hawke breathes, just to hear Fenris snort in disbelief.

Once Fenris is undressed, Hawke reaches out to curl his fingers around the warrior’s wrist. Fenris’s skin lights up again, and he can feel the humming of the lyrium react to his magic. Hawke smiles, stepping into the basin. Once he’s settled, he gestures for Fenris to follow him. Fenris doesn’t even pause, just huffs in exasperation and moves to lean back against Hawke’s chest once he's in the water.

“Thank you,” Hawke murmurs, once Fenris is close. He drags his nose along the base of Fenris’s throat, burying his chin into the juncture where his collarbone and neck meet. The elf shivers against him, making a noise that sounds caught halfway between a laugh and a cough.

Hawke smirks into his skin. “What was that, Fenris?”

Fenris is no doubt, glowering at the Orlesian wallpaper Hawke hasn’t had the heart to take down since his mother had it installed years ago. “You are insufferable,” he says, aiming for idle disgust, but the amusement is still clear in his voice.

He places one, two, three kisses into the side of Fenris’s neck. “So you tell me.”

Fenris lets out an undignified snort, one that warms Hawke all the way through. “Thank you,” he echoes, after the silence has stretched on so long Hawke has started to doze off a little. “You always seem to know what I need when I need it.”

Hawke’s answering smile is _blinding_. “You don’t keep me around for nothing,” Hawke points out.

“Hmmm,” Fenris agrees. “Your foot massages are something else.”

Hawke smiles. “If you ask nicely,” he purrs. “I can do that for you, too.”

“Do I ever not ask nicely?” Fenris retorts, turning around in his arms. Before Hawke can reply, he presses in close, catching Hawke’s lips in a kiss.

 

 

\---

 

 

Hawke’s battle weary and tired, sure that there’s blood from at least four different sources covering his robes. There’s a seriously nasty stab wound right underneath his ribs that he’ll need to get Anders to check out when he can find the energy to drag himself to the other mage’s clinic, but other than that, he's quite proud he makes it into his front foyer before collapsing.

“Messere!” Bodahn shouts, and comes up to his side. “Messere Hawke,” he says, and his eyebrows are furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Hawke can’t help but laugh, and immediately regrets it when it sends him into a coughing fit. “I think,” he wheezes. “I think you should get Fenris. He should be in our room.”

“Right away, Messere.” Hawke can hear his hurried footsteps begin sounding up the steps.

Hawke thinks he maybe should’ve just gone directly to Anders’s clinic. He wasn’t expecting the ambush when it came, caught by surprise when bandits jumped out at him during his typical route through Lowtown whenever he couldn’t sleep. Trekking his way through Hightown, bloodied up and weak, probably wasn’t among his best ideas. It’s a miracle, he thinks, that he wasn’t ambushed a second time.

“Festis bei umo canavarum.” Fenris hisses as soon as he sees him, and then suddenly there’s a hand thumbing up the side of his face, while the other checks his body for the source of injury.

“Nice to see you too, Fenris,” Hawke slurs. “Ribs.”

Luckily, Fenris must understand because he doesn’t ask further, just shoves at Hawke’s robes until he can see the angry stab wound, red and festering, quickly turning purple. Hawke drank the few potions he always carries on him on the way over here, but it’s done little to stop the sluggish bleeding. He blinks at it blearily for a few moments, then looks back up at Fenris.

“You blighted _idiot_.”

Hawke snorts, but he quickly regrets it. “You’ve been spending too much time around Anders.”

“Stop. Talking.” Fenris grunts. He searches through Hawke’s travel pack, probably looking for the potions that are littered somewhere in Hightown. “Bodahn?”

“Yes, Messere Fenris?”

“Send for Anders immediately.”

“Right away, Ser.”

Hawke focuses on the steady footfall of Bohdan’s retreating steps rather than the pain that is quickly blossoming from bad to worse in his side.

“Can you walk?”

Hawke grimaces. “Yes.” He says. “Well. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Idiot,” Fenris grumbles underneath his breath again, and then wraps an arm around Hawke’s waist. “Wrap your arm around my shoulders.”

“If you wanted to cuddle, Fenris, all you had to do was ask.”

“ _Hawke_.” So, not in a joking mood then. Not that Hawke blames him, really. If their roles were reversed, Hawke wouldn’t be doing half as good of a job at keeping himself together.

“Alright,” Hawke murmurs, guiltily, and wraps his good arm around Fenris’s shoulders.

The trip to Hawke’s room is long, painful, and Hawke almost passes out three times. Fenris is close to just picking Hawke up and carrying him the rest of the way by the time they make it to his room door, and Hawke is so exhausted he’s having trouble staying on his feet. Fenris sits him down on the edge of the bed, and starts to gently take off Hawke’s shoes.

He has an objection already on the tip of his tongue, but the warrior beats him to do it. “Injured as you are, you’re not tracking dirt into our bed.”

Hawke’s heart flutters. _Our bed._  Fenris has been moved in for months and such a simple statement still has the power to completely turn his insides into mush.

He’s worn out, can barely keep his eyes open by the time Fenris has his boots off and is pushing him back against the pillows. Fenris is bustling about their room, a bundle of nervous and anxious energy, and Hawke is hit again by how none of this would’ve happened if he would’ve been more prepared. He reaches out to grasp Fenris’s fingers in his own, and feels a flash of delight go through him when the lyrium lights up at his touch like it always does.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Fenris snaps. He sighs, though, and runs a hand through Hawke’s hair. It’s no doubt a mess of loose strands and clots of blood on the top of his head. “This isn’t your fault,” he says, gently.

“I should’ve been more careful.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Fenris tells him. “It’s alright.”

Hawke doesn’t let go of his hold on Fenris’s fingers. “You’re too good to me.”

Fenris smiles, but it’s tight around the edges, and the lines between his eyes won’t disappear. “Someone has to be.“

Hawke doesn’t know what to say, to that.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

Hawke is half asleep by the time Bodahn returns with Anders.

Fenris gets up from the other side of the bed like a shot when Anders walks in. “Can you fix him?”

Anders looks appropriately concerned. “I need to see the wound.”

Fenris makes a noise in his throat that Hawke doesn’t quite recognize, but since it’s directed at Anders, he figures it’s probably somewhere between disdain and disgust at letting the mage so close to Hawke when he’s this weak.

“Anders,” Hawke grins.

“You can’t keep out of trouble for one moment, can you?” Anders mutters, fond.

“Not if it killed me,” Hawke jokes. He sees Anders wince. “Too soon?”

“I would say so,” Anders agrees, and then huddles closer to the wound on Hawke’s side. It’s finally stopped bleeding, but no matter how many poultices and potions Fenris makes Hawke suffer through, it still won’t seem to begin to heal. “Maker’s breath, that’s deep. Who did this?”

“Bandits,” Hawke answers. “Ambushed me in Lowtown.”

Anders raises his eyebrows as his hands start glowing blue from healing spells. “What were you doing in Lowtown at night?” When Hawke doesn’t answer within thirty seconds, he turns to Fenris.

“It’s none of your business, mage.” Fenris spits, and then runs his teeth along his bottom lip, which is as close to an apology Anders will ever get from him. “Can you heal him?”

Luckily, by this point, Anders is used to this by now, so he just nods. “I can. Hold still, Hawke. This won’t feel pleasant for a few moments.”

Hawke, knowing exactly how uncomfortable healing magic is at first from too many close brushes with death, snorts. “Just do it.”

The mage looks between both Fenris and Hawke, before he nods, and gets to work.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Fenris?”

Hawke is actually sure he’s imagining things this time. There’s no other explanation for the way Fenris literally _crawls_ \-- Hawke has never seen Fenris do anything close to crawl before, which is the first indication that this isn’t really happening -- over him, settling down so he’s right down on top of him, chest to chest, hips to hips.

“Not a word,” Fenris grumbles, nuzzling into the peach fuzz on Hawke’s neck.

“I told you,” Hawke whispers, instead, because if Fenris thinks Hawke is capable of staying silent through this then he doesn’t actually know him that well at all. Fenris just sighs against his throat, and trails a line of kisses that are just the right side of painful across his jawline and down his adam’s apple. “I knew you were a big softie.”

“Don’t,” Fenris says, but there’s a smile curved into his skin, Hawke is sure of it.

“Don’t what?” Hawke asks, curling his fingers through Fenris’s silk soft hair, brushing strands out of his eyes. His tattoos light up again, always reacting to Hawke’s touch like they just can’t help it, and Hawke grins like he always does, unable to help himself either.

Fenris rolls his eyes. “Don’t play games,” he huffs, but it’s cheapened by the way he lets Hawke bury his face into his throat.

Hawke answers by rubbing his beard along Fenris’s cheeks. It’s a testament to how worried Fenris still is that all he does is huff out silent laughter, finally settling along Hawke’s chest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to prompt me some more hawke/fenris on my tumblr!!!!! i'm kind of <3___<3 over this pairing and have written so much of them in the last few days. i'd like to continue that!! i work best with au prompts, but i'll write anything that catches my attention.
> 
> speaking of aus, this is the first "canon complaint" thing i've written for them, sooo, i hope it's okay. 
> 
> my tumblr is @asexualfenris if you want to say hey *___~ or prompt me!


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